


Common Tongue

by myrmidryad



Series: RNM Week [3]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 05:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmidryad/pseuds/myrmidryad
Summary: One of the times Alex hooks up with Michael between episodes 2 and 3.





	Common Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: quick and dirty.
> 
> Much like Alex, I intended for this to be quick and short! To no one's surprise, it's the longest fic of the week yet, because I am completely incapable of writing concise porn. Title from [Moment's Silence (Common Tongue)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7HcBvm0O-UU) by Hozier, though I actually listened to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5LgiiYaa96Q) mainly while I wrote.

Alex had had sex with exactly five people in his life. In order: Michael Guerin, Tom Something, Evan Something, Antonio Garcia, and a guy he was only fifty percent or so confident in calling Sam.

With most of those men, he’d been on leave with at least two drinks in him. He’d been careful, he’d gone far from anywhere his Air Force friends might have seen him, he’d kept his hook-ups brief and to the point. Yes, there was an embarrassing part of him that was somewhat desperate for a deeper connection, but he knew he couldn’t allow himself to have that for any number of reasons, not least the whole Air Force career thing.

Deeper connections would have meant getting to know each other, would have meant having to broach the topic of his family, his father. He’d come the closest with Antonio, actually hooking up with him several times over the course of a month, but neither of them had ever been under the illusion that it was for anything but sex.

It was easier, and better for everyone, for him to pretend for small windows of time that he was normal and not at all fucked up. If he had a type, and that type tended to curly hair and a sweet smile, that was no one’s business but his.

But fuck, it was impossible to maintain any sort of illusion with Michael. Michael was like the anti-illusion, so unwilling to lie that it blew Alex’s mind. He’d never met anyone as honest, ever.

_I never look away._

What the fuck was he supposed to do with that? He’d thought for sure he was alone in his lingering desire, but apparently not. Apparently Michael had not only stayed in Roswell for some unknown reason, but he’d been into Alex this whole time too.

Incapable of speech, incapable of even swallowing after that confession, Alex had reached for something familiar. Something to show Michael that he wasn’t alone, at least. That his words hadn’t been for nothing; that against all reason and logic, against the instincts in him screaming to keep Michael hidden, to keep his desire buried down deep deep deep away from any chance his father might see, Alex felt like he hadn’t looked away in ten years either.

It was always Michael. It would always be Michael.

He’d let Michael blow him in his trailer, stopping him from pulling his pants down further than his thighs because the prosthesis was such a pain to get on and off with jeans in the way. He’d tangled his hands in those lush curls and gasped, throwing caution to the fucking wind because they were literally in the middle of nowhere with no one to hear them so he could scream if he wanted to. He let Michael suck those noises out of him, helpless, high groans stuttering out of him with every stroke of Michael’s tongue, every press of Michael’s hands against his body.

It was so good to be touched, to be wanted. And Michael’s hands were greedy, hot and wide against the bare skin of his chest, one sliding to the curve of his back and down, down to squeeze his ass, pulling him up to fuck into Michael’s mouth.

“Guerin,” he’d gasped, head thrown back. “Fuck, Guer – Guerin, ahh, _ahh, ahh –_ ”

It was so quick. Michael didn’t take him deep, maybe couldn’t, but it was still the best blowjob of Alex’s life, hands down. Everything was different with Michael, like his senses got dialled up to eleven. Michael’s hair in the gaps between his fingers, the weight of him on Alex’s leg, the incredible wet heat of his mouth, everything was so much, almost too much.

Alex had come down Michael’s throat and hadn’t even thought of condoms until he had Michael shoved up in the corner of the bed, his hands yanking open Michael’s belt to get at the skin underneath.

They hadn’t spoken. Not beyond each other’s names. Alex had watched Michael turn soft around the edges, seen his growing smile and panicked, leaving in a hurry and cursing himself for it only two seconds after starting his car.

But by then he’d started his car, so that was that.

Back at the cabin Jim Valenti had left him, Alex jerked off with his eyes closed, picturing that sweet, crooked smile. Old memories were overlaid with new ones now, his worn mental repetitions of the best moments they’d shared in the tool shed now updated. He couldn’t stop thinking about Michael’s stubble, and the way it went right down his throat. He wanted to rub his face against it, wanted Michael to drag it against his skin. 

He imagined how it would feel, imagined Michael spreading his legs and rubbing his jaw up the inside of Alex’s thigh, and shuddered through another orgasm. He brought himself off again an hour later in the shower, sprawled on the cheap plastic stool he had to sit on in there, one arm braced against the tiles and the other wrapped around his dick. He imagined Michael in there with him, hair plastered to his neck, drops of water running down his chest. Alex imagined chasing them with his tongue, remembered the way Michael’s mouth had opened as Alex had jerked him off, their mouths against each other but too wound up to manage a kiss.

He was going insane.

He couldn’t sleep for hours that night, remembering over and over how his dad had brought the hammer down on Michael’s hand, how Michael had screamed. 

Chief Master Sergeant Jesse Manes was an established figure in Roswell. He commanded respect and loyalty. Michael Guerin was a ranch hand, a cowboy with an attitude problem. He had nothing protecting him if Alex’s dad went after him again, and drawing his attention to Michael would be foolish in the extreme.

Alex told himself that, over and over, reminding himself of how Michael had screamed, and what his hand looked like now. That was Alex’s fault. And if Michael loved him – part of Alex, deeply buried, desperately wanted to believe it – that was an even more compelling reason to stay away.

But just like he was the anti-illusion, Michael was also the anti-logic. Alex found himself at Sanders’ only a day later, drawn back like an addict. He’d waited till evening this time, hoping to catch Michael at the end of the day before he went to a bar, and he’d timed it perfectly. Michael was under the covered area by his trailer, newly parked, hat on his head and shirt thin on his back. Unnoticed for a second, Alex watched him and imagined walking away. He told himself to do it. But then Michael stretched and groaned, spine popping, and desire broke inside Alex like a wave over a dam. 

Michael turned and didn’t look at all surprised to see him. “Well well well,” he drawled. “What’s wrong? Car need tuning up?”

He was such an asshole. Alex shook his head and came closer, and Michael met him halfway, giving him those fuck-me eyes that had Alex’s heart beating faster against his ribs. “You need tuning up?” Michael murmured, all smirking suggestion, and Alex tried to be honest. God help him, he tried.

He reached out and slid a hand around the back of Michael’s neck, stilling him so that Alex could be the one to take the last step between them, his eyes flicking everywhere as he tried to look at everything at once. Thumb against the stubbled line of Michael’s jaw, the rasp of it so much better in real life. His imagination was useless, it could never compare. He imagined Michael in bits and pieces, scraps of memory and dream that separated the parts of him. He couldn’t picture all of him at the same time – it was just Michael’s hands, or his mouth, or his legs, or his chest. Isolated, piecemeal.

Michael stood in front of him in his entirety, that infuriating, crooked smirk shaded by his hat. He smelled fucking edible, there was just something about him that made Alex want to bury his face against his neck and inhale. The smell of Michael took him back in time so fast it gave him whiplash, and the way Michael hooked two fingers in the pocket of Alex’s jeans pocket and tugged him forward those last couple of inches sent liquid fire down his spine, pooling in his stomach as they tilted their heads at the same time for a kiss.

They were perfectly in synch, bodies matched in a way their minds hadn’t been since Alex’s dad had ruined everything. For once, the kiss was slow, and Alex’s breath shivered out of him as Michael’s other hand slid hot and firm up his side, under his jacket. He pulled Michael closer, till their hips were flush and Michael’s fingers in his pocket were trapped between them, his right arm infuriatingly occupied with holding onto his crutch.

His instincts were sluggish around Michael, and the heat of his body was driving every sane thought out of his head. He had to force himself to pull back and lean in the direction of the Airstream, and he hated that Michael’s laugh was a cutting thing, but that he still turned and pulled Alex after him with those damn fingers in his pocket. He couldn’t stop himself glancing around, reassuring himself that they were alone. He’d meant to be honest, he’d meant to say…something, he didn’t know what.

Michael shot him a look over his shoulder that had such promise in it that Alex forgot, if he’d ever known. He climbed the steps after Michael, careful on his prosthesis, and let Michael reel him in once they were inside, dropping his crutch against the closed door and ignoring the way it clattered.

The air in the Airstream was hot and close, perfect for the way Alex was feeling. His heart raced, an odd undercurrent of fear chasing him as he pushed his hands under Michael’s shirt, needing the contact, groaning as Michael pressed him to the counter and kissed him, kissed him, kissed him. No one had ever kissed him like Michael did, like Alex was the air he needed to breathe, like he’d die if they weren’t touching. Michael’s stubble prickled his jaw as he kissed his way down Alex’s neck; Alex dragged his hands up Michael’s back and arched against him, heat flaring under his skin at the noise Michael made when he did.

Sanders’ Auto wasn’t that far outside town. It was conceivable that someone would come by, possible that someone might wander in with something for Michael to fix. Someone who would see Alex’s car, someone who would hear the noises coming from the trailer, someone who would know, who would tell Alex’s dad.

So they had to be quick. 

Alex got a hand in Michael’s hair and dragged his head up to kiss him again, fierce and demanding. Michael went boneless for a second, exhaling heavily through his nose and moving his hands up to cradle Alex’s face again, the glorious weight of his body pinning Alex in place against the counter.

It was like Alex was only alive in moments like this. His body was always an afterthought these days, even more so since he’d lost his foot. It was a tedious thing to be maintained, a faulty tool that needed additional equipment and specialist attention to work. But when Michael touched him, shit, when Michael just _looked_ at him – 

Michael sucked on his lower lip and rational thoughts flew from Alex’s mind, chased out by a burst of pure arousal that had him pushing Michael away just to drag his shirt off. Michael could have emerged smirking, Alex half expected it, but the only thing in his eyes when he looked at Alex was want, maybe an edge of something that looked dangerously like reverence. Michael was so open like this, Alex didn’t know what to do with it. Michael offered him things Alex knew he didn’t deserve and certainly didn’t have the capacity to hold.

He could take this though. He pressed a hand to the centre of Michael’s chest and stroked down, marvelling at how hot he was, loving the sensation of hair against his palm. Michael started to undo his belt, and Alex leaned back to peel his jacket off, breath catching when Michael’s hands slid under his t-shirt the second his arms were free, pushing it up his chest and pulling it off over his head.

Michael’s _hands_. Alex dropped his head back and breathed through another titanic wave of desire as Michael’s hands curved around his ribs, smoothed down from his sternum to his stomach in the sort of wordless appreciation that drove Alex wild. Michael wore his wants so openly, looking at Alex like he was the most beautiful man alive.

Alex pulled Michael’s belt out of his jeans and put it on the counter somewhere, closing his eyes as Michael leaned in to kiss him again, hands still mapping out his chest. He made a quiet, satisfied sound as Alex undid his fly and pushed his jeans open, one hand sliding around to spread over one asscheek, squeezing hard. Testing, suddenly breathless, Alex inched his fingers in, questing, and blood rushed south when Michael thrust forward against him, his mouth opening on a groan.

“Yeah?” Alex checked, pushing just a little until he felt Michael’s hole against one of his fingertips.

“Yeah.” Michael didn’t even hesitate, and when Alex’s eyes fluttered open, he could see the heat sitting high on his cheeks, a flush of colour that flipped Alex’s stomach right over. “Gotta say though,” Michael breathed against his mouth. “Wasn’t expecting you. M’not prepped, or –”

“It’s fine.” Alex kissed him quiet again, blood racing. 

“Yeah?” Michael thrust forward again and Alex gasped.

“Yeah.”

Michael had done this before, Alex could tell when they made it to the bed and Michael pulled a half-empty bottle of lube from a drawer underneath. By himself or with a partner, it didn’t matter. Alex watched him with his mouth open, heat twisting through him as Michael arched his head back against the pillow, bringing his left leg up against his chest with unselfconscious grace as Alex stroked at his entrance, just spreading lube around, waiting for Michael to relax.

He did, quickly, and opened his eyes as Alex pushed his middle finger in. Alex could barely hold his gaze. He didn’t understand how Michael could let him do this and watch him as it happened, giving him every reaction without holding back at all. No bitten lip, no furrowed brow, nothing. Just open pleasure and desire, his other foot planted on the mattress giving him leverage to push down onto Alex’s finger like the act was easy.

Michael breathed out slow, eyes falling closed as Alex drew his finger almost out, then pushed it back in. His smile was slow too, lazy and happy like he was getting exactly what he wanted. Alex wanted him wrecked, wanted him panting and desperate. But hell, Michael was vice-tight, and there was no way Alex was getting in there without a decent amount of preparation first. Maybe that was what had Michael so pleased, maybe he could tell that Alex had planned on quick, and this would be anything but.

Alex shifted closer on the bed, his free hand reaching out to stroke down the shin of the leg Michael was holding against his chest. The hair there was softer than he’d expected, and he noticed that Michael was holding his leg in place more with his wrist than his hand, his damaged fingers extending into the air, unable to curve around his knee.

Michael clenched down around his finger, and Alex held still. “Okay?”

“Keep going,” Michael encouraged, opening his eyes and fixing Alex with a heavy-lidded look that went right to his dick.

Alex pulled his finger out, but kept the pressure steady against Michael’s entrance. He’d done this before, he knew what to do, and he pushed back in before Michael could complain. In, slowly out, pushing in again to the knuckle and pressing the tip of his index finger against Michael’s hole. A pushing, pressing dance. Two more thrusts, and then he pushed in with both fingers, eyes on Michael’s face.

Michael’s head was tipped back, eyelids fluttering ever so slightly, mouth open and lower lip wet where he kept licking it. Alex wrapped his free hand around Michael’s ankle and pushed in a little harder, testing. Michael was so _tight_ , Alex couldn’t get over it, but he didn’t push back. He kept letting Alex in, letting him do what he wanted.

He took his time, using so much lube it dribbled down the crack of Michael’s ass to the sheets below, a sticky little puddle they both ignored. Michael’s erection had softened a little when Alex had started, but it came back in earnest before long, and Alex couldn’t resist sliding down the bed to prop himself up on his elbow and press his face against the side of Michael’s thigh, kissing his stomach, the sensitive skin at the join of his hip and leg. Just touching Michael there when they were kids had made him moan, and it made his body shake now, his right leg pushing his body up against Alex’s face in a thrust he hadn’t meant to make, if his breathless curse afterwards was any indication. 

“Ah,” Michael breathed, soft and helpless. “Ah…Alex…Alex…”

Alex opened his mouth where Michael’s pubic hair began to thicken, pressing his tongue down, and heat stabbed through his belly when Michael’s hips shifted up again, just a tiny bit like he couldn’t quite help himself.

Michael was still tight around his fingers, ridiculously hot inside, and Alex made a quick decision and changed his angle, pushing in with purposeful, upwards movements. Michael arched his back, and Alex looked up his body to see only Michael’s chin as he threw his head back against the pillow and cried out, low and heartfelt.

“ _Oh_ , oh fuck, Al – ” Alex sped up and Michael’s voice jumped up a couple notes, his stomach trembling under Alex’s mouth. “Al- _ex_ , ahh, I’m, oh God fuck, Alex, I’m gonna come if you don’t…ngghh, slow down, shit.”

“That’s the plan,” Alex said in a low voice, and apparently that was all Michael needed to hear. His other hand, which had been clutching the edge of the bed somewhere by his side, jumped to his dick and he started jerking himself off with hard, tight strokes.

Alex was so hard he could barely breathe, mesmerised by the sight of Michael’s hand moving on himself so close to his face. He wasn’t even thinking, there wasn’t a coherent thought in him, he just _wanted_ , so he moved. He leaned closer and Michael slowed down, probably so his knuckles wouldn’t accidentally catch Alex’s nose. Alex’s fingers were getting tired, but he kept up the steady pressing of his fingertips against Michael’s prostate and opened his mouth to lick a trail up the fingers Michael had wrapped around his dick.

The noise Michael made was obscene, and Alex’s eyes fell shut as his dick throbbed in the confines of his jeans. He licked again, and Michael moved his hand down to the base of his cock. Alex dragged his tongue up again and slid it over the head, tasting the salt there, the flavour sharp and brilliant. He nudged Michael’s hand with his nose as he shifted to move down a little further, his voice shockingly rough when he spoke. “Keep going.”

Michael did, using what little lubrication Alex had given him to start jerking himself off again. Alex breathed over the tight skin of his balls, and Michael shuddered, trembling. His right thigh was right there, heat radiating from it, and Alex pressed his face to it, breathing in the scent of Michael’s skin, his sweat, everything, all of it. He was wild with wanting, and he kissed Michael’s thigh and looked up at him, still pressing and pressing into him.

Michael was clenching down around him, mouth hanging open, his breathing quick and erratic. Totally unselfconscious noises were pouring out of him, creaking groans torn from his throat on every exhalation. He was stunning, and Alex’s body tightened as Michael’s did, his whole body jerking as he came, stroking himself through it, come hot on his belly and over his fingers.

Alex kept up the pressure on his prostate with slower thrusts until Michael let go of his dick, a clear signal that he was done. Alex kissed his thigh and drew his fingers out with a muttered, “One minute.”

“Yeah.” Michael heaved out a breath and laughed, uninhibited and wild. “Fuck, yeah.”

Alex couldn’t help the grin that sprang to his face, and he wiped his fingers on the mattress as he sat up, swinging his legs back over the edge. He was aware of Michael watching as he pushed his jeans down and freed his good leg first before tugging the fabric down over his prosthesis, not bothering to take the shoe off. 

He’d decided to take it off, but he still had to make himself do it, pressing the release catches and tugging the prosthesis down and off his stump. He was used to it now, but the process still seemed horribly long with Michael as an audience. Skin brushed his hip, and Alex snorted when he saw it was Michael’s foot. It pressed there, then swept up his back, as if Michael wanted to touch him with his hands but was still too fucked to move more than one limb at a time.

He was only wearing two stump socks over the liner, and he pulled them both off quickly after setting his leg down against the counter opposite. At least everything in the Airstream was so close together that it was in easy reach. His liner was disgustingly sweaty, and he put it over the top of his leg just to keep it off the floor.

He’d never had to take off his leg in front of someone to have sex with them before. He’d never let anyone but medical professionals see it, and for a moment he was afraid to look at Michael, afraid of what he might see on his face. If it was pity, he didn’t know what he’d do, particularly seeing as he’d just literally removed his own ability to run away.

Michael dropped his foot and reached out with his hand instead, sitting up a little to grab Alex’s arm gently. His left hand, Alex realised when he felt the odd bumps of misshaped knuckles against his skin. “C’mere,” Michael said, low and tempting, and Alex braced himself before looking at him.

Michael’s eyes were dark, hungry and heated, and Alex’s fears vanished like they’d never existed at all. Suddenly it was the easiest thing in the world to turn towards Michael, to crawl on top of him and kiss him. The way his cock pressed against Michael’s stomach was electric, Michael’s legs folding around him, his slightly tacky right hand curving around the side of Alex’s neck and pulling him in.

Alex trailed his hand down, down, hitched Michael’s right leg up to get his arm under it, sliding his fingers back to Michael’s entrance. He stroked the pads of his fingertips against the hot skin there, still lube-slick, a question that Michael answered by pushing down against him, opening easier now.

Coming had relaxed Michael nicely, and Alex was able to move up to three fingers, adding more lube, and then more for good measure. Michael turned to get up on all fours when he was ready, Alex kneeling behind him and tearing open a condom with shaking, slippery fingers. Balancing on his right leg was slightly tricky, but having the wall so close to brace against helped. Alex pushed in slowly, his thighs flush against Michael’s, trying to look everywhere at once.

Michael’s neck, damp with sweat. The shiny scar on his left shoulder. His locked elbows, his fingers spread wide and strong on the sheets. His tangled hair, his head hanging low, the hint of his face that Alex could see when he turned his head a little. The way he stretched around Alex, the way he breathed out with just the hint of sound in his throat, the smell of sex heavy in the hot air around them.

Sliding out to add more lube, pushing in again, so slowly that Michael groaned and trembled. Holding nothing back, as always. Alex felt like a statue by comparison, for all that his own breathing was shaky, his heart racing so fast it almost hurt.

Out, more lube, in, out, in, _in_ , and Michael’s voice cracked on a gasp of a moan, soft and devastating – “Uhh- _hhhh_ , ahhh…” – and he pushed back against Alex, working him even deeper.

Alex went slow, at first. He had to, or he’d have gone off like a fucking shot. He concentrated on Michael to distract himself from his own pleasure, soaking in every noise Michael made, every shiver of his body, given to Alex so easily. 

His hair was sticking to the back of his neck with sweat, and Alex took a breath and moved a little faster, rocking into Michael’s absurdly tight heat and choking back the noises that threatened to spill out of him at how good it felt. Fuck, nothing had ever felt so good, nothing. The way Michael reached back with a shaky hand to grab at his thigh almost unbalanced him, and he slammed his hand into the wall to hold himself up. Michael turned to look and rolled his hips, meeting Alex’s movements with his own. Perfectly synched, as always.

Alex’s other hand slid up Michael’s back, feeling how sweat-slick he was, the muscles shifting under his skin. He was absolutely not going to last, and Michael won a helpless gasp from him when he clenched his muscles, holding Alex in him so tightly. Alex wanted, wanted – he pushed his hand further up and gripped the back of Michael’s neck, and Michael – 

“Mmmmmmm.” Michael pushed his head back into it and rolled his hips again. “Fuck, _Alex._ ”

When Alex squeezed, Michael groaned, his left arm wobbling dangerously. It probably hurt, Alex realised, and he stilled for a second, taking a breath to steady himself before letting go of the wall and draping himself right down over Michael’s back, burying his face for a glorious second in Michael’s damp curls, hands pressed to the sheets next to his.

“Down?” Michael gasped, and Alex nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Kay.” Michael lowered himself to the bed and pressed his entire face into the pillow for a second before turning sideways so he could breathe.

The position was harder for Alex to hold, but it wasn’t like he was going to be holding it for long. He got down on his elbows and started to fuck into Michael, a couple of slow thrusts first to check the angle was okay before he saw Michael’s eyes roll back in his head. Reassured, he started to fuck him in earnest, and it was so much better like this, like this he could see Michael’s face, see every tiny expression that flickered across it.

Michael licked his lips and gasped, stuttering out groans of, “Ah, ah, Al –, _ah_ , Alex, ahh, ahh –” And Alex loved that he could barely say his name, that he was fucking the words right out of Michael’s mouth, his gorgeous fucking mouth. Alex kissed his jaw, his cheek, breathed into his ear and felt Michael thrust extra hard against the bed. They were going to have to burn the sheets, he was ruining Michael so completely in his own bed. 

Like it was magnetised, his hand found its way into Michael’s hair and pulled, and Michael cried out louder, higher. Alex pressed his head down into the pillow and Michael’s tongue darted out to run over his lower lip, his eye cracking open and fixing on Alex as Alex stared down at him, transfixed.

“Alex,” Michael breathed, looking right at him, and Alex couldn’t stop himself, he could feel the pressure building and building, and Michael was still looking at him, little _ah’s_ punched out of him on every breath, being fucked out of his mind and still _looking_. “Alex,” Michael gasped again, and Alex’s hand in his hair gripped so tight it must have hurt, but Michael just groaned, “ _Alex,_ ” again and Alex shuddered and pressed his face into Michael’s neck as he came in long, brilliant pulses.

He stayed in, moving through the aftershocks and then further, urging Michael on as he humped the bed with increasing abandon. Alex pressed his head down into the pillow again and sucked his earlobe into his mouth, closed his teeth on it gently, and Michael’s whole body went still for a second before he grunted and jerked his hips down hard. Once, twice, three times, so tight around Alex that he almost pushed him out, and then going still.

Alex kept his eyes closed, Michael’s curls crushed against his face, the smell of his body everywhere around him. He could have stayed here forever, naked and hot, wrapped up in Michael Guerin while the world outside left them both behind. He wanted to stay. Michael wanted it too, he saw when he made himself pull away, holding the base of the condom and willing his limbs not to shake as he sat up and pulled out. Michael rolled onto his back and gave him such a soft look, his eyes so warm. 

It would be easy. Alex could imagine it so clearly, the way he’d toss the condom away and lie down again in the circle of Michael’s arms. He could rest his head on Michael’s shoulder, spread his palm over Michael’s chest hair, let Michael hold him close. It would be warm, and he would feel safe, the way he only ever did with Michael.

Michael’s left hand was resting on his chest, below his sated, happy smile, and Alex tore his gaze away. “I need to get going.” He’d already stayed too long. The inside of the trailer was getting dark, and he’d only intended this to be quick.

“Right.” Michael let out a long breath. “Sure.”

“My liner.” Alex tied off the condom and gestured to his prosthesis without looking at Michael. “I. It needs cleaning.”

“Well that’s one I haven’t heard before,” Michael said wryly, and Alex rolled his eyes, putting the condom aside for now and reaching forward to get his liner. 

“It needs cleaning, every day,” he explained, annoyed. “I have two, on rotation. One drying, one being worn.”

“I get it.” Michael sat up and stretched. “Must get hot.”

“Yeah.” Alex rolled the silicone sleeve up over his stump and grimaced. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He did need a clean liner every day; a build up of dirt and sweat might lead to a rash that might lead to an infection that might lead to him not being able to wear his prosthesis at all, and that was completely unacceptable. “Ugh.”

“Sweaty?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Michael laughed, and it was blessedly clear of bitterness, so Alex managed to give him a small smile. He looked away when he saw the twist to Michael’s mouth though, that edge that said he knew Alex was making excuses, the way he always did.

Alex pulled one of his stump socks back on and reached for his jeans. Michael got up rather than watch, to Alex’s relief. He walked past to get to the tiny bathroom at the back of the trailer, and Alex pulled his clothes on, rolling up the right leg of his pants to slot his prosthesis on, finally standing up and clicking it into place. Jeans rolled down, he was ready to go. He hadn’t felt so physically relaxed in…fuck, years, probably. That was just the effect Michael had on him, and Alex knew it was dangerous.

Michael was washing his hands, and Alex made himself look away from the naked expanse of his back, the curve of his ass, the golden length of his legs. “I’ll see you around.”

“Sure.”

He deserved the cursory response, and he knew it. Alex grabbed his crutch on the way out and limped to his car in the dusk, the breeze cool on his burning skin.

Next time, he found himself thinking, and cut himself off with a scowl. There wouldn’t be a next time. There couldn’t. Not in Roswell, not where news might get back to his dad. It was beyond selfish to be taking the risk with Michael’s safety, and it needed to stop. He needed to stop.

 _Next time_ , whispered the treacherous, buried part of himself that loved Michael Guerin back with all the recklessness he couldn’t afford. _Next time, be brave. Stay._

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr!](http://myrmidryad.tumblr.com)


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